


Thrill

by threeplanetswatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Reunion, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplanetswatson/pseuds/threeplanetswatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet from tumblr- spoilers for the Season 3 trailer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrill

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet written for a [text post](http://threeplanetswatson.tumblr.com/post/59955536596/wholockian221b-imagine-sherlock-saying-what-he) by wholockian221b on tumblr.
> 
> First ever fic, let me know what you think x

John’s panting stutters as he exposes his neck to Sherlock, an impossible heat flowing through his very bones, chest flushing, eyes pricking.

They’re completely bared to one another now, not a piece of clothing between them, and it’s too much, they’ve never even _kissed_ before, it was only ever limited to brushed fingertips and large hands bracketing confused faces and fervent, heavy glances. It’s not enough, because it’s been _three years_ , three years without _anything_ , three years too long.

John leans up and licks at the divot of Sherlock’s cupid’s bow, kisses away the blood curving at the corner of the man’s lips. 

The way John twines his fingers tightly in Sherlock’s hair (dark and curly once more, no longer shorn or straggly or ginger) to pull him closer speaks volumes, tells the younger man _stay, stay here, don’t you _dare_ leave me, _ and Sherlock responds in kind by pushing open lips to the gnarl of John’s bad shoulder, hoping he can communicate what he so desperately feels _(no, never, never again)_.

He pushes himself back up the length of John’s body _(need to catalogue changes, he’s lost weight, new scars)_ , through the slickness of their combined sweat, so he can whisper to John in an exhilarated baritone, so he can _remind_ him-

_“The thrill of the chase-”_

-and John is taken back, back to long nights of running down alleyways, jumping fences, dashing alongside Sherlock, being _daring_ and _brave_ and feeling so goddamn _invincible-_

_“-the blood pumping through your veins-”_

-remembering the feel of the rain-slipped pavement under his feet, the giddy thrum of his heart, cool metal wound about his wrist and the calloused warmth of Sherlock’s hand in his own-

-remembering that feeling when they would collapse against a wall, blood pounding in his ears, and he would look over at Sherlock and think _maybe, maybe this is it, maybe this is the night that adrenaline will course through Sherlock and bypass that wonderful, wonderful brain and he’ll just lean over and-_

-remembering all these things even now as Sherlock hisses broken words into his ear-

 _“Just the two of us against the rest of the world.”_  
And they come together, surging over the brink, Sherlock gasping against John’s neck as John arches up with a cry beneath him.

Just the two of them.

Just the two of them, always.


End file.
